


Patter

by MrsMoosie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoosie/pseuds/MrsMoosie
Summary: Patter is the story that a magician tells, while leading up to the trick itself.Set in 1872, we learn about that class that Aziraphale took with Mr. John Mackalyne to learn some sleight of hand tricks. Of course, practice makes perfect. After class, he quickly decides to show off his new found skill set.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Patter

**Author's Note:**

> It's a kind of maaaagic... Magic... MAGIC!
> 
> Short little one-shot for you. This is totally what happened. I'm... Pretty sure... Right?
> 
> Something cheerful after the dramatic week I've been posting over in 'Til the Heavens Burst, and the Words Don't Rhyme. (Shameless plug.)
> 
> Happy Friday! :3

It was 1862, and Aziraphale had just left Crowley standing at St. James Park, at the pond feeding the ducks. He’d stormed back to his book shop in a rage, hurt and upset at what he thought had been his best friend for so many years. He wanted Holy Water. A suicide pill. A way out. Aziraphale wasn’t about to be the cause of his destruction. 

He threw his hat and cane to his couch and sat at his desk, fuming.

Although he wasn’t really _mad_ , per say. He wasn’t sure how he was feeling. His best friend asking for such a destructive thing? A final way out in case everything went… went _pear shaped_? He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on his desk, looking out the window beside him. Unheard of! Outrageous- no, unfair is what it was! He looked at his fingers tapping with a sigh.

Those next ten years passed rather quickly.

1873...

Aziraphale was walking down the bustling streets of London, keeping a keen eye out for a tall black top hat and tails. Crowley had been in the wind for years. Aziraphale missed his friend terribly. There was an empty place in his heart for him. 

“Take a flier, sir?”

Aziraphale was taken aback as he came across a young gentleman handing out pieces of paper. He offered him a bright smile and nodded, tipping his hat.

“Yes, thank you. What is this all about then?”

“The great magician Mr. John Maskelyne is to be offering a class, sir! He’ll be teaching folks all sorts of real magic tricks, sir!”

Aziraphale’s eyebrow raised and he looked at the flier, that said just that.

_Sleight of Hand Magic Lessons!_

_Taught by the World Renowned Master Mr. John Maskelyne!_

_Come for lessons- as simple as ABC._

_Valuable Direction. Guide to Presentation. Appropriate Patter._

_Become a beginning conjurur!_

Aziraphale had enjoyed magic for decades. Human magic. Of course _he_ could do magic, but this was different. This was something so simple that humans had come up with! He’d been dabbling for a few decades, working on making coins appear out of nowhere. A street urchin Crowley had once sent to him with a note was most impressed with his magic! He _had_ to have _some_ sort of skill! Aziraphale noted the time and date on the flier and thanked the young man that had provided it to him, before heading back into his bookshop. He’d forgotten where he’d been heading, and decided a cup of tea was in order anyway.

The class was a disaster. Mr. Fell, the name he’d used during the class, tried several times to palm a coin only for it to continuously fall to the floor. He had a knack for showmanship, a certain charisma it would seem. Actually _doing_ the trick seemed to be a flop.

Pulling a rabbit out of a hat was much easier- there was a trap door involved on the table! How simple. Remarkable idea, these humans had. There was another trick with some cards which turned out worse than the coin. The final trick was pulling a bouquet of flowers from your sleeve. Aziraphale had trouble with most of the tricks, but as Mr. Maskelyne said, “It is all practice Mr. Fell! It could take you years to finally master some tricks, these are simple ones for children’s parties and amusing your friends!”

Aziraphale tensed, but smiled just the same. Simple ones, indeed. 

“And if you deal with hecklers, make a joke of it, you pudding-heads- and I do mean you, Mr. Fell.” He grinned, “Make ‘em laugh, and they’ll forgive you anything!”

The class laughed, Aziraphale smiling and laughing along with them. Always the butt of the joke, but always smiling along with it.

Crowley liked to joke…

Aziraphale’s breath caught and he looked around. They were all staring at him. They were all waiting for him… He shook his head and headed for the door.

“I’m terribly sorry, It would seem that I’ve forgotten… That is to say…” His voice was trembling as he headed to the door. He grabbed his hat and cane, “Good day!” Without another word, he sprinted out.

The streets were bustling with shoppers, carriages, children, and noise. Aziraphale paused in the middle of the sidewalk and squeezed his eyes shut. He was gripping his cane tightly and taking several breaths, regaining his composure. He had to see Crowley. He had to set things straight. Maybe invite him over to see his new magic tricks! It’d be a nice ice breaker.

Aziraphale walked with a small bounce in his step. He made sure to stop at the florist, and a small drug shop in the area to purchase a set of playing cards. He made sure he kept a thruppenny on him for his sleight of hand tricks. 

Clutching his purchase to his chest he walked back to his shop. He stopped a young street urchin on his way back and gave him a note and a tip. He gave the young man a specific address to deliver the note to a Mr. Crowley. When the young man left, Aziraphale grinned and entered his shop.

He kept the front door locked so he could prepare the stage, so to speak. Mr. Maskelyne said that ambiance was an important part of the illusion. He closed the windows, lit quite a few candles, and decided if he was going through with this, he better go all out.

Aziraphale bounded up the stairs to a far corner of the shop where he found hanging in a small cupboard several coats. They were all different shades of cream, save for one. It was _black_ . Aziraphale shivered in excitement as he took the coat. It had been one of Crowley’s from twenty or so years back he had left after a particularly long night of drinking. He added in a golden waistcoat, and cravat, blowing on them to remove any trace of dust and mildew. They _had_ been in the closet waiting for nearly twenty or so years.

He changed quickly, shaking nervously as he finished tying the cravat messily around his neck. Aziraphale skipped down the stairs, getting his ‘magic jacket’ prepared appropriately. Flowers, thruppeny, cards… He couldn’t very well conjure a rabbit up, he’d probably feel guilty and have to take care of it. Besides, the other tricks should be good enough.

He waited. Ten minutes past. Twenty. Half an hour. Aziraphale found himself getting nervous and was sweating a bit, looking from the clock to the door, to the desk. Maybe Crowley was still upset with him. Maybe he didn’t want to be friends…

Three sharp knocks came at the door, and Aziraphale could sense him. He ran to the door, changing the locks and opening the door excitedly.

“Come in!” Aziraphale held a hand out, smiling brightly. Crowley looked at him apprehensive and stepped inside, staying a good arms length or so away.

“What’s… What’s all this?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, curiously. 

Aziraphale shut and locked the door. It’d just occurred to him that Crowley had never seen him in anything other than cream or white, and he felt a little embarrassed by that fact. His face flushed and he adjusted his waistcoat.

“It’s… I will have you know that I have just today taken a wonderful course of study with a Mr. John Mackalyne.”

“A who what now?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“John… John Mackalyne. He’s a conjourer.”

“A witch?”

“No! Not a witch- a magician! He does sleight of hand and… Oh, do come in and let me show you!”

Crowley rolled his eyes, a bit sour from their last encounter, “Fine. If it gets me out of here faster.”

Aziraphale felt the stab from the comment but said nothing, only smiling and walking him into the shop, “Now, I know I’ve showed you a few tricks before but _these,_ Crowley… Are _new_.”

“Fantastic.” Crowley found his normal seat on the edge of Aziraphale’s couch, legs crossing. He reached inside his pocket and found a silver case with a snake engraved on it. Inside were hand rolled cigarettes, to which one was pressed between his lips, “Let’s see it then?”

“You’re going to smoke?”

“Of course I am.” Crowley shrugged. He lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, allowing for a small flame to ignite. Once his smoke was aflame, he took a drag and leaned back, sighing, “Get on with it then.”

“Right!” Aziraphale nodded. He gave a deep breath and looked between them at the floor. He was nervous, but ready.

“You see, Crowley. Nothing in my hands, but here, a simple thrupenny.” He moved it around a bit and switched hands, looking back and forth, “But see… It’s vanished! Into thin air!” 

The penny fell.

“Oh… Well still!” Aziraphale scrambled to pick up the coin, attempting to save his show, ”And… I believe I see something behind you ear?” He asked, reaching the side of Crowley’s face. Crowley grabbed his wrist as it approached his face and frowned. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and exhaled, staring Aziraphale down.

“What are you doing?”

“The trick!” He pulled his hand away and showed Crowley the coin that he’d just made appear. More or less. Crowley looked at the coin and raised an eyebrow.

“You can do real magic…” Crowley raised an eyebrow, snapping an ashtray into his lap and tapping the end of his smoke into it.

“But this is _fun_! Let me continue. Please?”

“Fine…”

Aziraphale took the deck off cards next and shuffled them. He held the stack out to Crowley nervously, hands trembling.

“So… You pick a card. Don’t show me, but remember the card. I’m going to find it without seeing it!”

“With your human magic?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale beamed, holding his hands out. Crowley shrugged and took a card, glancing. Seven of spades. He shrugged and looked to Aziraphale.

“Now what?”

“Put it back… I’m going to use _magic_ to find it.” 

Crowley put the card back and Aziraphale started to remember what Mr. Mackalyne said to do. He went slow, trying to make sure he got the trick right. Shuffle, move this way, distract with conversation… Oh.

“So what have you been up to?”

“Sleeping until you woke me up for this.” Crowley grumped. Aziraphale looked at his hands and tapped the cards, straightening them out.

“Now. I simply take your card here… Seven of spades!” 

Crowley’s eyes widened and he leaned forward, “You… You got it.”

He would have said it, even if Aziraphale was wrong. But he got it… Crowley was impressed.

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“I know I’d usually lie to you to make you happy, Angel, but you’re right this time. I’m impressed.”

Aziraphale grinned brighter than the sun and wiggled, “Oh! I have one more. One last one. If you please?”

Crowley felt his cool exterior melting. He couldn’t stay mad. He nodded, stubbing out his smoke.

“Now, you see nothing is up my sleeves. Nothing-“

“Your arm.”

“What?”

“Your arm is up your- never mind, get on with it.”

“Uh… right. Now, my lovely volunteer from the audience, a gift for being so sporting with me.” Aziraphale pulled out a lacy white scarf, then a dozen red roses, “Ta da!” 

Crowley stared at the roses, frozen. His eyes were wide behind his dark glasses, and Aziraphale found he refused to move. Wasn’t it magical? It was _human_ magic, of course, but magic just the same!

“I said… Ta da!”

Crowley was silent still, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Aziraphale’s face dropped at the poor reception and his arm dropped down solemnly, standing up straight. The dozen red roses hung at his side, and would have wilted off Aziraphale had given them the chance to.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.” Aziraphale said quietly. He lifted his free hand to grab his other arm, his eyes turning down, “This was just silly… You can go.”

Crowley stood quietly and looked down at the roses only a moment, tilting his head to Aziraphale in thought. He said not a word before he walked out of the shop.

Aziraphale was absolutely _crushed_. He threw the roses at the spot where Crowley had been sitting and sat in his chair again, tapping his fingers, willing himself not to cry, not to get emotional.

Magic… What a pathetic thing for humans to think of. What a perfectly horrid-

The front door opened again, and it was not even five minutes later.

“We’re quote closed!” Aziraphale shouted. He forgot to lock the door, how ridiculous!

“You’re always closed, Angel.” Crowley’s molten voice purred from behind him.

“Ah! C- Crowley how did you get… Why are you back?”

Crowley snapped.

A plate of freshly made crepes appeared before Aziraphale, smothered in strawberries and chocolate. A vase holding several dozen red roses appeared to the left. A box in brown packaging to the right.

“See… I have a flair for the dramatic as well, Aziraphale.” Crowley purred into his ear, “Only I use real magic.” 

Aziraphale shivered and turned, finding their faces were awfully close, “These… They’re from…”

“Just down the street, Angel. Not France, didn’t have time.”

“The roses and the box…?”

“They were waiting outside with that boy you sent over. Chocolates are from France, though.” 

“Oh… Crowley…”

“What was that you said? Ah, yes. Ta da.” Crowley winked and kissed Aziraphales cheek. His final trick- making a lovely flush appear on Aziraphale’s skin, right out of thin air.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always welcome!
> 
> Thanks to Missy_Marharet who helped me with this!
> 
> Find me on IG as @mrsmoosie35 💜 I'm always good for a giggle.


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